


this is his despair

by softreminiscence



Category: Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, THIS IS HAPPY I PROMISE I JUST PICKED THE WORST TITLE/SUMMARY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:06:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8098030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softreminiscence/pseuds/softreminiscence
Summary: upon the ground, pathetic, covered in water, is where he is trapped forevermore. that is his despair; the thought of munakata kyosuke’s absence, rejection, ridicule is his despair.





	

the first kiss is hard. his teeth dig into the pliable flesh of sakakura’s bottom lip so hard that blood is drawn; this is the anger that wells in sakakura’s chest whenever he looks at himself in the mirror; whenever he finds his gaze drifting, shifting, turning towards the  _ sun _ ; whenever yukizome teases him in that playful, careless way of hers, because when it comes to munakata, no one could love him more than her. that’s what she thinks, but what sakakura knows is that her chest could not contain the raw emotion that has him burying his fists into walls, into himself so that he could tear out his beating heart. she does not feel the condemnation that is placed upon him by himself, by society, by the world. all of the spotlights turn to bear witness to a sin that could be as unforgivable as the blood on his hands. 

 

to live a life where  _ murder  _ is safer, quieter, less contemptible, than  _ loving _ , what horrid existence. 

 

sakakura awakes in a cold sweat with a hand still gripping his cell phone.  _ oh _ , he remembers.  _ he called me last night _ . that is not itself a strange occurrence; it becomes more regular the longer they are apart from one another, but he never gets a call while the sun is still up in the sky, instead he is spoken to in the hushed whispers of the night. the glow of munakata is dimmed; sakakura’s eyes can adjust to this lack of light. “damn,” he sighs, resisting the urge to throw his phone against the wall opposite of him. 

 

he turns over, then takes the framed picture of munakata from his drawer. it is a coveted secret, not unlike munakata’s shirts that he keeps over the years that still smell like him or the seemingly  _ meaningless  _ trophies sitting on his cabinets with each one contains a story of yukizome and munakata standing in the crowd, cheering him on. his softness is his fragility; his emotions are loaded guns that threaten to strike down every single person he loves, but he knows the safety is on. a calloused finger runs along the frame with a softness usually absent from his touch; his gaze follows as the memory associated with the image draws a smile from him. 

 

the decision becomes easier, then harder. 

 

each word is weighed against each other as he shakes his head, places the image back into its hiding place, then sits up in one languid movement. a hand buries within his hair as he clings to the memory of his dream. thinking about the weight of munakata’s lips upon his is easier than thinking about how fate perches on his back like the heaviest weight he’s ever benched. the agreement he’s made still rings in his ears; enoshima junko’s voice is low, at his ear. humiliation washes over him; his skin feels sticky, slick and cold all over. immediately, his breathing slows until he thinks he might suffocate beneath the weight that has shifted from his shoulders to his chest. instead of a decision he makes willingly it is a weight that is holding him down, pinning him to the ground. 

 

“no…” he feels the tightness in his throat when he speaks. it is hard for him to swallow.  _ she’s innocent _ , he chants internally. it is a mantra that he cannot afford to distrust. he knows the truth and he will willingly tell munakata that she is innocent. everyone will realize that she really is guilty soon enough: she had talked about a  _ main dish _ ; therefore, she had to have something bigger planned than him and his damaged self-worth. he would be munakata’s downfall, his betrayal. enoshima junko did not even have to threaten to harm him, did not have to be near him. she had gotten sakakura to turn with one piece of information. how  _ stupid  _ did he have to be to have been so open with such a loaded secret, one that could do so much damage.

 

the drawer is still open and he considers throwing the trinkets away. if he can cover his tracks now, then the future will be easier to deal with for him. instead of destroying anything, though, he merely slams the dresser drawer shut and moves to the window. this window was the reason that his secrets could be on display. he could have hidden the secret deep within the crevice of his chest for the rest of his life if it wasn’t for  _ this _ . all of his options are weighing so heavily, even though he knows the correct answer:  _ he knows what he must do _ . he’s resolute in that decision; there is a sweet comfort from it that washes over him in the most peculiar way. a divergence in his timeline allows for an ending that is not enoshima junko winning. 

 

the cost? perhaps munakata. 

 

anxiety clings to him as he turns away from the window and heads into the bathroom. he moves sluggishly around his own living area as though it is tainted. munakata’s towel sits next to his from his earlier visit in the week. sakakura has not even tried to launder it because it is heavy with his smell. it is a simple reminder of the man he wishes he could set his towel next to each night. toothbrushes coupled together. pairs of plates, cups, mugs. shared closet space. cramped bed space. entwined hands, shared soap, munakata wearing his shirts. there’s a giddiness to him as he starts the shower, turning the water temperature as high as it can go. 

 

it does not leave his mind as he sheds his clothes and steps into the shower.  _ is there a threat to munakata? yes. is the threat immediate? no, i don’t think so. can i protect him from whatever happens if i keep this from him? yes.  _ **_will he resent me for making this mistake?_ ** he draws a blank with his head under the faucet. the steady stream of water runs down the back of his neck in rivulets.  _ will he _ … _?  _ if enoshima junko ends up being a destruction so terrible… would munakata be able to look evenly at sakakura again?  _ what if we crush enoshima before then…? but there is no guarantee that she won’t tell him my secret whenever. there is no guarantee that she’ll keep my secret for longer than she needs me for.  _ in his muddled mind, he sees no right answer. the only correct answer would be the one that kept munakata the safest, but the thought of losing him…? 

 

he strikes his fist into the shower wall, an indention appearing where his fist meets linoleum. he pulls back, huffing in exasperation as he weighs the options in his mind once again. the only options he has are to be silent on the subject, lie to munakata, or he can tell munakata and risk losing him. with his hands tangled in his hair, he makes his decision. he is finally able to swallow his pride, because otherwise, he’s turning his  _ back  _ on munakata when he’s invested so much trust within him. even if munakata turns his back on him after this, at least sakakura will still be able to protect him; he’ll figure it out somehow.

 

sakakura has an affinity to fucking everything up, but munakata is the only thing he can touch and  _ not _ bruise. munakata is that which he protects, and it is the only talent that he possesses any longer. even using his strength had ended with him on his back with water pooling beneath him. he knows that no matter what, his hesitation is going to cost them, because enoshima could have already taken hundreds of steps; meanwhile, he had hunkered down in his apartment and contemplated whether the destruction of humanity was worth the loss of munakata. betraying munakata is an action that he won’t be able to live with - it is a decision that he cannot wash from his skin, not even if he swears that he won’t ever turn his back on him again.

 

all at once, the whole world slows for him as he hears a knock on his door. no longer is he able to breathe, instead the weight that he is constantly shifting upon his shoulders pins him to the ground. upon the ground, pathetic, covered in water, is where he is trapped forevermore. that is his despair; the thought of munakata kyosuke’s absence, rejection, ridicule is his despair. he shivers with his back up against the wall; the coldness of the tiles does not calm his nerves and he struggles to turn the water off. his hands no longer feel as though they are his own, but he supposes that since enoshima had bested him, he hadn’t felt like too much of anything was his own any longer. 

 

the knocking is forceful, spaced, calculated. yukizome would been a flurry of repetitive patterns, but this is one of authority, a familiar pattern that is beat out within the depths of his heart. all he’s wrapped in is a towel when he answers the door and when munakata enters the fabric of his suit brushes against his bare skin. his heart lurches up into his throat. “you didn’t answer my calls. you never reported back to me after your investigation,” munakata is saying before the door is even shut. he’s crossing over to the window to close the blinds; he has always been so much more careful than sakakura. 

 

“yeah,” he responds hollowly as munakata watches him cross over to get clothing to change into. his hair is still wet, dripping onto the carpet and rolling down his skin. “gimme a minute, then we can talk properly about this.” he shrugs into a shirt and then slips his boxers on underneath the towel. sakakura is efficient, quick; munakata needs him to be at his side, so that is where he’ll be. he wastes no time in getting dressed, and then he’s walking over to munakata, squeezing the water out of his tresses. “okay,” he tosses the towel onto his bed, then crosses his arms. “this’ll probably…” the words die on his throat before he can vocalize them. his whole body goes cold as he freezes in place; his mind is a flurry, wondering how to proceed in this situation, especially when his gaze is now frozen upon munakata’s own. 

 

an eyebrow is lifted, head tilted. munakata looks tired and confused beneath his put together surface. sakakura wants to reach out and pull munakata into the bed: to show him the words that die in his throat and choke him. it’d be easier that way, he thinks, but he knows that that could be more dangerous, more loaded. 

 

frozen with fear, his breathing shallow, sakakura leans closer to munakata. their height difference is just enough that if they kissed, munakata would have to strain just a little bit to reach him. his breath catches audibly when he thinks about the roughness of the memory of his dream. “she’s not innocent,” his head dips to whisper the words, “but neither am i.” 

 

with those words, he feels munakata stiffen with anxiety; it seems so misplaced within his joints that sakakura wishes to steal away his words from him. neither of them are touching, but both are so close to each other that they feel their how their bodies react to each other. “what do you mean…?” munakata does not make jumps in his reasonings, he does not conclude any such thing from sakakura’s words. with muscles taut, he awaits an answer from his companion. sakakura swallows hard, feeling the thrum of his pulse in his throat. 

 

“she’s asked me to betray you,” he licks his lips, “but i could never do that.” the room feels as though it is spinning and he is going to be sick. the lights are too bright in his own house and he needs to sit down before he passes out. his eyes slip closed and when he sighs, munakata shivers, trying to hold himself together, but the shiver causes him to move imperceptively closer to sakakura. “don’t look at me until i’m done.” he sighs, dropping his forehead onto munakata’s shoulder, “please.”. the touch is too gentle for them, but sakakura is bearing himself in this moment and he cannot afford to inflict damage. if he is to give up his pride for a moment, then he has to be committed to this gamble. he sighs again, still trying to think of which words would probably convey his true feelings. honesty slips free from his lips, “her analytic skill is off the charts, munakata. i couldn’t even acquire her then... but i can defy her now.” 

 

a pause, munakata’s breathing has slowed. 

 

“she asked me to betray you, but i won’t. instead, i’ll tell you that she’s guilty. i couldn’t be more certain of it…” another pause, but this one seems to last forever as sakakura tries to catch his breath. he feels as though he’s just went through various matches where he’s been punched in the gut repeatedly until breathing became a task instead of a biological function. “but by incriminating her, she is going to share with you something that i could just explain, but i’m  _ scared _ ..” he rests there another moment, chest heaving as if the force of gravity is bearing too strongly down upon him; this anxiety is enough for him to wish to inflict pain to his own self. he feels as though he is not with munakata, but instead he is back on that ground, with water pooling underneath him and the jeers of all those people. he bites his cheek so hard he tastes blood. finally, he pulls away from munakata, but does not meet his eye as he sidesteps him to pull the frame from his dresser drawer. 

 

_ my despair is this _ . he stares at the image, wishing that he could slide his fingers against the smooth feel of the surface of the image, wishing that this could still be just a coveted secret. munakata has not moved; he is rigid where he stands and sakakura wonders if this is the right decision as he positions himself in front of him once again. this time, however, his gaze meets munakata’s own as he hands over the framed image. munakata’s brow furrows as he stares at the image for a moment longer than necessary, because he has to recognize it. then he inhales sharply as it all  _ clicks  _ into place for him. “...how long?”

 

“for awhile…” sakakura sighs, braiding his fingers into his hair. “i’ve dedicated my life to you, munakata. all that i am, i am for you.” it isn’t eloquent, but he cannot utter the words that would confirm just how far his affection reaches. if he has to tell munakata that he loves him, then he knows that the words will tear him apart from the inside out. this is confirmation enough for the both of them. 

 

munakata is quiet, pensive as he holds the picture frame in his hands; his frame falters and shakes as he purses his lips, then reaches over to place the image face-down on the table nearby. in that instance, sakakura moves until he is holding munakata’s hands within his own. his forehead presses against munakata’s as his eyes slip closed. he wishes to scream as he had before, back then, but instead he just focuses on matching his breathing to the rise and fall of munakata’s chest. if he could get lost in this moment, then he would choose to do so. munakata’s hands shift within his grasp until they are returning the warm gesture. both of them are holding onto each other and it makes sakakura feel so warm that he might as well be on fire. 

 

with that calculated, cold look of his, munakata digs through sakakura’s gaze. the emotion lying there is unfiltered, real. the softness of sakakura in this moment is bewildering to munakata; there is fear weighing on his heart, because he knows that this is the truth. always had sakakura been the shield, but now all of his armor was shed. both knew that there were other things to be done than this confession, but neither of them could move. this moment anchored them in the present, but made them push aside the threat that loomed above them. munakata’s thumbs gently brushed against sakakura’s calloused skin, its roughness feeling like a comfort. 

 

“very well,” munakata’s breathing is slower now. “you’ve done well… to complete this investigation. we will be able to incriminate her now.” sakakura almost forgets himself in the sweet slide of skin. their hands are warm in their embrace, and sakakura does not know why they have not separated yet. the minutes lull by and sakakura’s eyes open to watch the rise and fall of munakata’s chest. there’s fear in the line of his shoulders, but there is also something there that he does not recognize -- that he doesn’t understand. it is a reciprocation that is unknown to him. he would be able to see it written out on his own face, but standing before munakata and bearing witness to his expression, he finds it unmappable, foreign, even though it is a mirror of his own expression.  

 

the ferality that he catches in his eyes when he opens them for just a moment, causes his breath to catch in his throat before he’s knocked back. he thinks that he’ll feel the sting of  _ pain _ ; he prepares himself for it, but does not move to defend himself. if munakata is just going to attack him and not abandon him, then he’ll take it. he would take the abuse if it meant that munakata would allow him to remain by his side. with his eyes closed, he’s ready for the hand that munakata has lifted to meet his skin. 

 

his hand misses sakakura and slams against the wall which is enough to have sakakura opening his eyes in surprise; his expression changes to an openness that is usually absent from his features when munakata’s nose brushes against his own in a way that makes sparks go down his spine and assuage every single inch of his nervous system. before he can even understand anything that is happening, munakata’s lips are meeting his own, but it is not  _ hard _ . there is a calculated softness as he presses sakakura’s back flat against the wall, his free hand dipping to his waist as sakakura’s flail for a moment before settling to grasp onto his clothes like anchors. he pulls munakata forward until he can feel  _ everywhere  _ they are touching. his lips are clumsy against munakata’s own and he does not know what to focus on: his hands, his body, his lips, munakata, the spinning room, his head that is so light that he feels as though he has been ko’d. 

 

in sakakura’s indecisiveness, munakata takes the lead. his hands are unsteady, but he kisses sakakura with a fervency that had been an uncalculated part of this confession. munakata’s clear-head understands that they have to act and act  _ now _ , but with the recent revelations, he feels as though he’s been played as the idiot. to think that he’s missed the same signs that he’s noticed in yukizome. his eyes slip open as he runs his tongue slowly over sakakura’s bottom lip, relishing the noise that is returned to him in earnest. a shiver accompanies it. he cannot help but be engrossed with how sakakura’s expression changes, how his body reacts. both of them are stranded as curious young adults playing the game of teenagers. instead of dipping their feet into the shallow water, they have fallen into the deep end, clinging to each other, fighting towards the surface. munakata kisses him, then kisses him again. he moves away, but only a hairbreadth of an inch, then he is back again and again and again. his chest heaves with the breath that he loses from his ministrations: each kiss is gentle, administered with complete concentration. munakata appears as though this is a precious task, as though each movement is just as important as the first and he does not want to break the glass house that they reside in. 

 

“how long?” sakakura gasps when munakata pulls away long enough for both of them to catch their breaths. his eyes are soft, innocent, a look that befits him, but is unexpected and foreign. these are eyes that are used to fiery anger, disappointment, rejection. munakata’s gaze is cloudy, dreamy as he focuses on teaching his lungs to breathe something that is not sakakura’s air. he’s still concentrated, breakable as his gaze flickers between lips, hands, and eyes. 

 

his brow furrows and sakakura has to withhold the urge to soothe the skin with fingers, with lips, but it only lasts an instant before his expression has softened. munakata leans forward to kiss sakakura’s forehead, his cheeks, trailing down until he’s lightly pressing kisses at his neck. he has to strain to reach his forehead, his cheeks, but he’s at a comfortable height for pressing his lips fleetingly against his throat. when his lips press against sakakura’s skin, he can feel the vibration of his voice when he makes a small noise in response to munakata’s touch. “for awhile now,” he whispers against his skin. “for so long.” 

 

there’s a hunger in his voice that matches sakakura’s own. never would sakakura  _ dream  _ that not only would munakata still look at him after this confession, but also that he would press him against the wall and treat him like glass. his touch was gentle, yet sakakura always imagined their first kiss as  _ hard _ or  _ sharp _ ; he figured there would be teeth, fingernails, hair-pulling, self-hatred masked as ferocity, anger, lust, need. this was soft, like  _ love _ , admiration, respect, reverence and those were expressions that sakakura could notice and understand, because that is how he had always been looking towards munakata. 

 

munakata stays buried in the crook of sakakura’s neck, so close that he can feel his breath on his neck. it slows as the moment drags on. “we have to pave the path to incriminating enoshima before she does anything drastic, if she hasn’t already. i asked yukizome to investigate her as well, but this will do as confirmation. i trust you. you’ve done a good job with this investigation.” munakata smiles against his skin, pressing another kiss there before swiftly stepping away from sakakura, leaving both of them flushed. 

 

sakakura nods in agreement, watching munakata as he turns to head for the door. the lines in his back are strong, sure, and sakakura knows that the steps he takes behind him will carry him into the future. alongside munakata, he will be able to be as brave as he needs to be, always.


End file.
